Jackpot

We collect it in our hands, splashing our dirty faces, never enough to be clean. We use bowls to catch each drop, wetting our cracked lips and parched tongues, never able to satisfy our thirst. We set out buckets, saving every bit to sprinkle on wilted leaves and shriveled roots we try to grow in pots. We gather in the streets on rare nights when the sky opens up, stripping off our threadbare clothes, arms raised as we howl like coyotes, imagining the neon lights still burn, certain we can hear the rush of jingling coins pouring out of the machines.

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